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House of Dust "Music, when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry. Music, without the idea, is simply music. Without music, or an intriguing idea, color becomes pallor, man becomes carcass, home becomes catacomb, and the dead are but for a moment motionless." -Fall of the House of Usher by Alan Parson's Project, inspired by the works of Edgar Alan Poe "Catch you fuckers at a bad time?" -Chris Kristofferson as Whistler, Blade The funeral was everything that the News Service could have wanted. For the better part of three decades since the so-called pagan revolution against Islamic autonomy in the Mid East, the various resurgent cults of the old gods played one another off of the middle, each trying to seize ever more power in the teetering court of the renewed kingdoms of the Upper and Lower Nile. And in Hardai, where the rulers of the nome kept their rule, a succession of weak nomarchs had allowed the Cult of Anubis to wax powerful. That was, at least, what was known to the various international correspondents who crowded the streets to get a look at the royal family as they entered the temple of the death god. Of course the high priests themselves didn't rule the city, at least not usually as the mandate of governance prevented such a direct conflict of religious and secular power, with the divinity of the Pharaoh being largely honorary at this day and age. Instead, the house of Anubis was renowned among its peers in the House of the Hawk, House of the Snake, House of the Cat, House of the Lion, and others, for having manipulated themselves into choosing their own Nomarchs through control of the legislative senate for the city-state of Hardai. Usually this had meant of the two or more children a High Priest had, one would go on to be Nomarch, and one would go on to hold high position in the cults. But Osahar, the real reason for the media attention, had been unpopular and now that he was dead there was a great deal of question as to whether or not Hardai would be the site of a new cycle of sectarian violence. Proclaiming Samah steward had only been a stop gap procedure to what, she was certain, would be a swift and vicious battle for control of the city, control of the Nome, and perhaps a powerful move for any number of factions who would benefit from a chance to earn the ear of Pharaoh. The older woman scowled beneath her veil at the thought. Already there were those who saw the widow as an opportunity to get in with the weakened house by an advantageous marriage, as if she had more years to spend on her ass growing fat and gravid for men half her age. Then there were those eying her second son Makare, recently returned from exile. Bold, handsome, iron-willed Makare. She watched him stand next to his father's corpse at the front of the temple and thought how closely he resembled the deceased jackal. His face was made of hard, unforgiving, lines and he wore the antiquated ritual garb of the rulers well.

She knew he would be formidable at anything he set his mind to. Indeed, he had come to be well known abroad for his outspoken denouncing of the institution of the religious castes. He did not deny that Egypt was healthier once more in the hand of the Pharaohs than it had ever been ruled by the monotheists, but he did not believe in throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The castes, he passionately spoke, was a step backward towards an age of slavery. Samah promised herself she would do whatever she could to ensure his ascension followed its proper course. A light touch at Samah's elbow brought the matron out of her ruminations. Turning she smiled at the late arrivals slipping into the temple's darkness. Nefer had eschewed her usual western influenced clothing and instead wore the traditional robes and collar of her station. When she saw Samah she did not run forward but maintained a proper walk until they were close enough to embrace, and only then did either woman let their tears touch their cheeks. Drawing back a ghost of a smile could be sensed beneath Samah's veil. "What a woman you've become, my dear." "Mother," Nefer choked behind her own smile. "this is Kierlan." She gestured to the uniformed jackal beside her whose white fur and dull blue-white hair shone out like a candle in the shadows of the temple. Samah looked her over and then encircled Kierlan's cheek with her hand. Turning Kierlan's face she clucked her tongue thoughtfully, then nodded. "He is a sweet boy, Neferata," she said. "You shall take good care of him." "I will." "Come," Samah intoned. "Your brother shall want to see you." As Samah led them Kierlan felt more uncomfortable than he thought he would. Not only at the older woman's perceptiveness, but at how alone he felt in this company. There was Amon, following them in his ritual garb which consisted of a heavy two-handed Khopesh of bronze, a white kilt surrounding his hips with a broad saffron belt, and the usual headdress. Nefer, similarly dressed albeit with an all encompassing white robe that constrained her breasts into uniform flatness. And now Kierlan had been but recently introduced to Nefer's mother, but other than that he didn't know anyone here. Nearing the front of the line of people there to give their well wishes to the dead Nefer was embraced by another white Jackal who Kierlan was told was Nefer's other brother Areku, and that one's mate Osiris, but there were many more of all species and all faiths to give their respects and on the whole it was quite claustrophobic despite the temple's vastness. It was a large rectangular building longer than it was wide with cathedral ceilings supported by vast painted columns, almost every surface painted in relief. To the fore was the small altar where the dead jackal's corpse lay wrapped in linen, and that was flanked by two immense black marble Jackals. Each held its head straight, arms crossed over their chests with a rod of rule in one hand and a scourge of

punishment in the other. The right had a look of bemusement and Kierlan was certain the sculptor had gone to great pains to give the jackal a sense of knowing mirth, as though it had caught the viewer making a complete fool of themselves. The left statue on the other hand, had a disapproving glower with a sneering scowl where painted teeth could be seen. The message on that one was much more clear: In the house of the dead no disrespect would be countenanced. It was a look that was shared by the male Samah was introducing Nefer to now. The two jackals looked so alike no one had to tell Kierlan they were related, but they were yet as different as night and day. While Nefer was genial and fun-loving, if fragile, this character was carved from granite and about as friendly as a cheese grater to the genitals. Between the two there was a cold acceptance of one another's existence, although Nefer clearly had been hoping for a more heartfelt reunion, followed by a subtle glare to Kierlan from the male that didn't need translation any more than the statue had. Outsider. Pulling away from the press of bodies Kierlan sought to go unnoticed against one of the far walls where the shadows were deeper. While the temple had modern lighting it seemed for services they preferred to use 'classic' lighting in the form of oil lamps and bronze mirrors albeit computer controlled to catch the sunlight as it travelled the sky. The services themselves were not much different from the Catholic masses Kierlan had seen his monotheist friends attend in his youth: after everyone had viewed the body they gathered in the seating provided, which was a modern add-on, and listened to a priest speak over the body. While this priest was dressed like Ptah, the opener of ways, there were other more costumed figures. Two Anubis dressed figures stood on either side of the body now, and there was a third dressed as a hawk of some sort. There was a falcon-faced priest acting as some sort of presiding king although such was purely ritual, and there was a crocodilian priest with half his face painted like a skull to represent the monstrous Sobek. Kierlan almost did not notice as Amon joined in his hiding place. The jackal guard stood with his hands behind his back, watching the proceedings behind an inscrutable mask of attentiveness such Kierlan was caught off guard when he started speaking to her. "The mistress likes you." "You mean Nefer?" He nodded. "I guess." "She made you a bodyguard," he added. "but that is not your path, is it?" "What's it to you?" She growled. In the journey from Germany to Egypt by plane, and then from the Cairo international airport to Hardai, she had not come to like the royal guard any more than she had disliked him before. In fact this was more words than he had said to her in as many moments that weren't monosyllabic grunts. The only other time she'd gotten word one out of him was when they arrived at the Hotel in Hadrai, Nefer had insistent despite having her

own rooms in a palace of all things, when the unexpected solar eclipse occurred. It was the second such astronomic irregularity in as the last few days and scientists were up in arms while the superstitious thought it portended doomsday. "The young master will be Nomarch here soon," Amon said. "and when he is king of Hardai he will not be manipulated as the other Nomarchs were. He will seek to restore the glory to the House of Anubis, and to do that he will require foreign allies." Now it all made sense. Kierlan felt ill. A day ago Amon wouldn't have given her a second look, even to spit in her direction, but now that there was something to be gained by it he was offering her an olive branch. Sure, Kierlan thought. Work for the Nomarch as a military advisor, get back in the good graces of the corps and get a good bit of coin to salve your conscience because we're all backward savages here. It was a mistake coming here, she decided. It was a mistake to leave the base that night. All of it. Creak. "Did you hear that?" Kierlan rose out of her funk and began to cast about as dust fell from the wooden catwalks that formed a second floor gallery. Amon too was suddenly on edge and pressed his body up against the hieroglyphics laden wall, hand drifting to his sword. The ritual was at its height with the nobles of the Anubis household taking part in the passion play representing Osahar's travel in the underworld with Makare having taken the role of his father. The two Anubis guards had dragged him to a scales where now a feather was being balanced against a heart, probably from some beast of burden, while the mourners and some twenty guards plus temple guard watched. None of the rest seemed to sense something strange going on. "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" At once the temple chamber was thrown into disorder as red robed figures burst in from the inner doors, the back chambers, and descended from the upper galleries. Kierlan had barely a moment to pull her service sidearm and pull back the hammer before she had put a round through a charging hyena with a sword wielded overhead for a killing stroke. Beside her Amon had drawn his Khopesh with a howl while in a dozen corners a series of extended sorties exploded. "To arms!" Armored temple guards drifted effortlessly to encircle the high priests, Makare, Samah, and Nefer where they had been mid ritae and now were caught off guard. Meanwhile the outer area was becoming a killing floor as those the guards were not engaged in were poised to cut down the visiting dignitaries. Taking her gun in both hands Kierlan dropped low, kicking off her heels, and barreled into the mess, using the long stone pews as cover while she picked her shots. There was no time for disabling or mercy, and whomever they were they didn't seem to notice anything less than a kill shot, so she grudgingly obliged them. Aim. Shoot. For long moments Kierlan was focused on the moments between ragged heartbeats, time slowing to conform to the heightened

awareness of her military training. She did not see the blood as it splattered all around her, nor hear the report from his firearm, or smell the cordite, but she damn well knew she had put down the ones she fired at until her gun clicked empty in her hand. By now the temple had become an abattoir, dignitaries getting cut down as they tried to flee and bodyguards straining to put together some kind of cohesive defense despite the interplay of competing languages, operating practices, and all manner of old hatreds. Dimly Kierlan was away of a dull banging trembling through the room, the police trying to break down the outer gates, but it was going to take them a damn good time doing it. Their attacker had chosen his moment well. The temple was, as far as Kierlan understood it from Nefer's description, an old Alexandrian fortress that had been reinforced time and again before finally being restored to the elegance of the ancients. The outer doors that should have been open were reinforced steel blast panels designed to repel any exterior intrusion and would seal in time of emergencies. As soon as they attack started a klaxon had filled the air, both announcing the conflict and sealing the V.I.P's in with their enemies; without the chance for outside help. "Brilliant." Kierlan muttered sourly. Kierlan barely moved her foot, feeling every toe clench as one of the red robed fighters dropped its blade for a maiming stroke. Rolling with her hips she lifted her foot, kicking upward, and nailed him in the chest. The hyena crumpled easily, although by her own approximation the kick had been a sloppy one. Kierlan made a mental note to exchange this stupid skirt for a proper pair of trousers. Dropping down she picked up the sword in both hands, getting its weight. It wasn't for as rude a slash as the robe had made. It was long and curved with a curved gold hand guard. A cavalry saber of all things, designed to be used from the back of swift riding animals and efficiency wasted here. Another one incoming. She thought. Switching to one hand Kierlan rotated her body so that it stood lined against the assailant with the smallest profile, leaning back at his sloppy chop. In her approximation the lot of them were the worst kind of bog standard, and it made one wonder how the hell they got in here. This wasn't just some bunch of Afghan rebels with bombs strapped to their chests, she decided, it was someone's feint. A feint for what? Kierlan fenced with the attacker against her better judgment. She should have put him down quick but he was so ridiculously bad at what he was doing even a half hearted effort was better than his best. When a second joined in she played both off against one another, elegantly dodging their hasty attacks and using her heel, elbow, and fist of her free hand to drive home the point while falling back towards the armed and armored wall of temple guards. It was only when one of them took a swipe at her, each great sword sized khopesh in

their hands like a thresher that Kierlan realized they were not here to protect her, but the deceased and the head of the Anubis house. Barely avoiding being cut down Kierlan was instead driven forward, caught between the killers and the silent guardians. This was just getting better and better. Then the inner doors exploded as the outer doors smashed through the stone walls, lifted into the air on a scathing hot wind and deposited effortlessly mid chamber. Kierlan didn't care to think about whom had been crushed under the several ton doors as the sunlight poured in from outside and at the forefront of the charging police a strangely robed Jackal appeared. Like the statues behind Kierlan, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and in one hand he held a long staff like a shepherd's crook. In the other he held an iron khopesh lined with glowing pictographs. The dust and wind seemed centered on him, and as he strode forward it settled. "Protect the royal line," he commanded and Kierlan watched as the Egyptian police scurried to carry out the order. "they are of utmost importance in this time of tragedy." Getting to her feet Kierlan spared a scathing glance over her shoulder at the temple guard, her shortness of breath catching up with her, and then at her savior standing on the site of devastation he'd wrought. Normally she would have been more magnanimous, but it had been quite some time since Kierlan had been attacked with swords and knives, or almost killed. "And who the hell are you?" "I am Sethmoses," the Jackal grinned pleasantly with a mouth full of needle teeth. "A sorcerer." He looked about. "And it seems if I had not happened upon you," he added. "things could have been much worse." Kierlan's scowl didn't diminish. Funny that she thought. ... In the aftermath Kierlan had to admit the fix had been a good one. Almost two thirds of the noble and religious hierarchy of Hardai had died attending the funeral, leaving the House of Anubis by far the strongest representation protected as they were by the temple guard of their own principle deity. The emergency session of the ruling council that followed, drafted from the surviving families, was quick to appoint Makare Nomarch and oversee the investigation into the catastrophe. Kierlan didn't expect there would be any results. The attackers had been Hyksos, she was told by Amon while they were having their various scrapes and cuts tended, a breed of desert riff raff that would serve anyone promising them wealth or power. How they'd gotten in or what their goal had been was likewise murky since in addition to the usual suicide-in-lieu-of-interrogation bit so common in this corner of the world, there was much shrugging of shoulders and muttering about how the temple being so ancient was full of forgotten tunnels and secret passages. The whole thing was an offense to Kierlan's modern sensibilities. And then there was Sethmoses. So a wizard - correction sorcerer - just happened to be waltzing by while

there was a huge to-do outside a prominent temple where these things aren't supposed to happen and everyone was taking it on face value? And now he was the much beloved friend of the family for saving their lives as if Kierlan hadn't done anything at all. These people had to be stupid. Those were Kierlan's thoughts as she packed her suitcase. Perhaps if she spoke to a friend or two of hers in the corps she could get reenlisted at a lower pay grade. She couldn't even take in the beauty of the Hardai palace without thinking of how she had gotten here: taken in by a liar, half killed, and now complicit in some kind of political intrigue instead of following the bright future she had once had as part of the armed forces. The Egyptians weren't the stupid ones, she decided bitterly, she was for being taken in by one. She didn't even notice as the door to her rooms was opened and Nefer stepped inside. "Where are you going?" "I'm going home," Kierlan said. "Thanks for the fun, but its time I got back to reality." "But," Nefer started with confusion plain on her face. "the spell I cast compels you." "I'm not to rise against you," Kierlan countered angrily. "nothing says I cannot leave." She glowered at the jackal. "And if you're going to cast more juju at me then I'm just going to have to take my chances, aren't I?" Nefer nodded. Once more she was dressed in traditional Egyptian garb, but this time that clothing comprised only a white skirt around her hips, the jackal's heavy pierced breasts revealed for all to see. Her neck still bore the broad collar, and now her forearms and legs were ensconced in bronze gilt with turquoise and other stones. She very much looked as though she belonged here. "I deserved that." She admitted. "I misused your trust, more than once." "You're damn right you did." "And now I would like to make amends." Nefer extended her hand. "Please, my mother would like to see you." Kierlan stopped and scowled still at the outstretched hand then took it into her own. It wouldn't cost her anything to listen, and then if she didn't like what Samah had to say she could always leave. The bags were packed so to speak. Allowing herself to be led Kierlan walked through marble inlaid floors with gilt walls and ceilings of smooth sandstone, passed flowing tapestries and billowing curtains, until she came out into a wide gallery where a vast pool was set into the floor with lilies idling in it. To the far side Nefer's mother lounged amid a wide sheaf of silks swaddled around her body, absentmindedly taking from a hookah. For a moment Seithon was certain neither she nor Nefer had been noticed until Samah began speaking. This, again, was the wise and insightful matron that had recognized Kierlan for what she was; speaking plainly and to the point. "You accorded yourself well today, Kierlan," She said. "Whereas my daughter did not, but then we all were shocked at the sudden violence." Nefer's cheeks colored a deep red while Kierlan crossed her arms.

"Really?" "I understand your cynicism," Samah said. "Too many things adding up in too many ways I do not like." She took another long puff from her hookah while never looking directly at the two shemales in her presence. "First my husband's sudden albeit long expected death, and then the atrocity at his burial rite." Only now did she look at the pair and Kierlan felt ashamed for her earlier choler, seeing the long streaks of tears that had disrupted Samah's makeup. But under her red ringed sorrow was a seething anger Kierlan also recognized. The matron was not one to take things lying down. "Someone is trying very hard to make my family supreme in Hardai," she said. "and in so doing discredit us for their own purposes." "I have my suspicions," she continued. "but I must oversee Makare's transition to the Nomarch, and then I must find someone to serve as Hierophant." She put aside the hookah and rose to her feet, revealing that beneath the silks about her elbows she was quite nude. And though her breasts and belly were not as resilient as they had once been, there was still enough vivaciousness in the middle aged Jackal to make Kierlan uncomfortable when she drew close. "This makes inquiries of a certain sort inappropriate for myself." "But not for Nefer and I." Kierlan finished. "Just so," she cupped Kierlan's chin once more in her hand. "You will be my agents in this affair." "What are we to do, mother?" Nefer asked. Samah looked from one shemale to the other, releasing Kierlan. The white jackal watched Samah's hand drop down and form into a fist until Kierlan could hear the bones shifting within her long fingers, knuckles popping ominously. "You will find out who murdered my husband," she seethed. "So I may bring them to justice." "Otherwise," Samah said as she turned away, her voice dripping with venom. "I will encourage Makare to continue to treat you as unmentionables Neferata, and both you and your newly-made daughter will never be welcome in any city where my influence touches." To be continued! Nefer, Osahar, Makare, Samah, and associated extended family unless otherwise noted are © her player Kierlan is © her player Akreu is © his player Osiris is © his player